


Pledging Lambda Lambda Lambda

by LittleMousling



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: D/s, Dubcon as hell, F/F, Face-Sitting, Hazing, Lingerie, No kissing allowed, Pet Names, Sexy Coercion, Strap-Ons, They're all very into it re: the dubcon, Threesome - F/F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 11:50:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15142454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMousling/pseuds/LittleMousling
Summary: Priyanka’s reasons for joining a sorority may not be the purest, but then, neither are Emily and Hanna’s plans for their pledge.





	Pledging Lambda Lambda Lambda

**Author's Note:**

> This bears no resemblance to any real sorority activities outside the pillow-fight-style imaginings of my fevered brain. Sorry, @honorbound.
> 
> Massive thanks to @Puckling for betaing!

No one in Priyanka’s family was in a sorority; most of what she knows about Greek life is from movies. That, maybe, is why it takes her a while to notice that her pledging isn’t exactly coming out of the standard rulebook. 

It feels like comeuppance, maybe; like the perfect consequence for having rushed a sorority for the pure and simple reason that she saw two gorgeous women coming down the front steps of it on her first day of orientation, and her heart had stopped. She’d wanted to meet them, or befriend them, or—okay, mostly—to kiss them, not a life-changing realization but enough to make her throw out all of her prior judgment of frat life and fling herself, full-bore, into the pledge-class fray.

It hadn’t exactly been something about either of them, so much as it had been the way they walked out arm-in-arm, casually close. Priyanka had had a moment’s tight-throated _oh_ , followed swiftly by her mentally kicking herself: she was over-interpreting. She was seeing what she wanted to see in two straight friends, acting completely normally.

Then one had pushed the other into the balustrade, laughing, and started kissing the hell out of her. 

She knows them, now: Hanna and Emily. Hanna, granddaughter of immigrants, vice president of the school’s No One Is Illegal chapter, loudest voice in most rooms and a beer-pong champion. Emily, not old-money exactly but definitely old-money adjacent, a Taylor Swift aficionado with familial Democratic Party ties going back to Tammany Hall. If Tammany Hall was a Dem thing. American History hadn’t been Priyanka’s best AP score. 

Or: Hanna, elfin princess with legs that seem impossibly long for her height, subtly muscled from swim competitions, face falling often into a dirty smirk. Emily, an Aerie model escaped from the catalogue, Hollywood’s idea of girl-next-door hot, flipping instantly from kissable to sultry. 

Getting to know Hanna and Emily hasn’t made her wish she was the one kissing either of them any less, unfortunately. They’re both so _confident_ , juniors with an opinion on every aspect of campus life and happy to share tips. Priyanka’s only taking Intro to Geology because Emily said it was the most interesting class she ever took, and that the professor made rocks fascinating. Priyanka’s been making calls with No One Is Illegal because Hanna took her to a meeting and introduced her around.

She knows them because she’s rushing the sorority. She’s rushing the sorority because she wanted to know them. It’s all very ouroboros.

Some of what she’s experienced so far has been what movies had taught her to expect: the mixer; the older girls asking probing questions about her major and her high-school performance; the expectations of fidelity to the house. Some of it was extra, but not impossibly strange, like Emily and Hanna, who caused this whole life change, spending three events in a row talking to her and only her about her politics, her family, her hobbies, her ex-boyfriends, her taste in music and movies and alcohol. 

That was the first step, before the recommending classes, the taking her to meetings, the inviting her to lunch, the trying out makeup on her. Even all of that was—flattering, but part of the process. Movies go that far, she thinks. Older sorority girls spend time with their pledges, trying to see who’s worthy. As amazing as it’s been, she could reasonably say she had expected some of that.

She had _not_ expected to be called into a double bedroom in the house by Emily and Hanna, and made to try on their dresses.

“Making sure you represent the sorority is part of our job,” Emily tells her, unzipping the dress they’ve put her into while Hanna pulls another one off its hanger. “And you’re so sexy, you should show it off a little.” Emily’s hand follows the zipper down, warm on Priyanka’s back. 

They put her into the second dress, and Hanna smooths it with her hands, down Priyanka’s sides and then down her front, over her belly and— _fuck_ —right over her mound, on down her thighs. It could be nothing; it could be an accident. 

It seems a lot less like nothing when, after the fifth dress, after she puts her own skirt and top back on, Emily turns to Hanna and says, “We’ll have to do lingerie, next.”

Hanna nods, like it's a foregone conclusion. "Not that these aren’t cute—" She slides a finger under the waistband of Priyanka's skirt and down to brush the elastic of her panties, just far enough to make Priyanka want her to really touch. "But we'll put you in something better."

So she was starting to have a pretty good idea something wasn’t normal about all of this, even before the lingerie shopping. The lingerie shopping isn’t what makes her catch on; the lingerie shopping is what makes her desperate to keep it going.

She trails them around the store as they pick things out, keeping her hands in her pockets. Sometimes they comment to each other: “This will look so hot on her,” or “Mm, maybe the red.” Mostly, they just make selections with speedy, burning intensity, and then they’re hustling her back towards the changing rooms. 

The changing room is small enough that they're both right next to her, close enough she can feel their body heat. Close enough they keep brushing against her. She's starting to feel like Hanna's hands are magnetically attracted to her ass. “Off with this,” Emily says, pulling Priyanka’s shirt off, and as Priyanka lifts her arms to let Emily finish the job, she feels Hanna’s hands at her back, unhooking her bra. 

She freezes, unsure how to respond. The cups of it are already falling down; if she doesn’t grab for it, or cross her arms, Emily at least will get the full view. If she does … if she does cover herself, they’ll be disappointed. She’s here to try on lingerie; that means taking her bra off. She swallows, and drops her arms, lets the bra fall to her feet. She doesn’t cross her arms, although it feels Herculean; it feels like she has to lock them at her sides to manage. 

They immediately reward her choice, which makes it easier to keep standing like this. “God, you’re so pretty,” Emily says, stepping back the few inches she can in the small space. Her hands come up to Priyanka’s waist, fingers pressing into Priyanka’s skin. “Try the red one first, Han.”

The red one is a teddy, if Priyanka knows her lingerie terminology—and, admittedly, she doesn’t. It’s only a top piece, but as soon as it’s on, Hanna’s unbuttoning Priyanka’s fly, and Emily’s peeling the zipper down, both of them pulling them down around her thighs and Emily kneeling to yank them the rest of the way off. Priyanka’s flip-flops go with them. 

They’d had her down to her panties last time, too, but she’d been wearing her bra, and neither of them had really lingered or touched except when she was mostly dressed. That doesn’t seem like the case now, with Emily stroking a hand up the outside of Priyanka’s thigh as she straightens back up.

Hanna stares at Priyanka in the mirror, and Priyanka sees her lick her lips. "You'd look so much better wearing ... less," Hanna says, and starts peeling Priyanka back out of the teddy. It had seemed like “less” already, plenty of fabric but all of it translucent, revealing her nipples as clearly as cling wrap would have. Hanna, it seems, does not agree. 

The next selection makes it clearer what Hanna means, a tangle of tiny, lacy scraps. Emily helps her step into the panties, sliding them over Priyanka’s own cotton bikinis. Hanna slips her into the tiny little pieces of the top part—it can't be called a bra, and she has no idea what the rest is—and runs her hands down Priyanka's sides, watching her in the mirror. “Oh, yes, sweetheart,” she says, and Priyanka isn’t done processing the endearment before Hanna adds, “Look how hot her tits are in this, Em.”

Priyanka, lost for what to say, what to _do_ , spots the price tag hanging at her side and turns it to see, terrifyingly, three figures. "Oh, that's not—I can't—we should take this off. Like, immediately. But carefully. But immediately."

"Oh, no, baby," Emily tells her, grinning. "This is on us, don't worry. We're sure you're going to ... make it worth our while."

Priyanka looks at the very large stack of garments hung on the hook behind Hanna, and feels the warmth of Emily’s hand on her hip. She runs, rapidly, through what she’s sure Emily is saying: that they want her. That their time with her, helping her, guiding her, has been something other than casually platonic. That they want her to … her libido wants to put names to it that might not be right, but they cycle through her head, anyway. To serve them; to do their sexual bidding; to let them take what they want. She has to part her lips to get enough air into her lungs, feeling the words, the possibilities, filling up her chest. 

She plays dumb; there’s something in her that wants them to make it more explicit. She wants to hear—she doesn’t know. She wants to hear that they want her, because she’s been burning up with wanting them. "Uh—but what if I don't get a bid?"

Emily glances at Hanna, a soft smirk rising on her face. "Oh, I'm sure you'll do whatever it takes to get in, won't you? You're so ready to be one of our girls."

Priyanka's face is hot, and she's _very_ glad she's wearing her own underwear, because she knows she's getting wet now—as if she wasn't before, with their hands all over her, telling her how pretty her breasts look in the lace. "Yeah—yeah, I'll do anything."

"You're such a good girl," Hanna says, and her arms find their way around Priyanka's waist, hands flattening out on Priyanka's stomach. "We know you'll be a great fit for the house. We like how ... easy-going you are."

"Mm-hm," Emily agrees, hands stroking up Priyanka’s sides until Priyanka can feel the soft pressure of her palms, or her wrists, pressing against the bra cups. "Such a good trait in a pledge. Listening to your sisters.” 

"And we'll make it worth your while, too," Hanna says, catching Priyanka’s eye in the mirror. She’s wearing that dirty smirk, impossible to mistake. "If you behave, you get rewarded."

"So ..." Emily says, and puts her hand on the price tag, so the plastic tab digs into Priyanka's skin. "Shall we try on some more?"

Priyanka swallows. Swallows again, because her throat's too dry to talk. "Yeah. Yes. Thank you."

***

They get back to the sorority house with three bags of items. One bag is shoes—the kind of towering, strappy heels Priyanka would never have even looked at for herself.

She thinks that's it, that they'll be bored with her now and she'll go back to her dorm room and—and _not_ touch herself, because that's against the rules. Not the official rules that everyone was told, but rules Emily and Hanna gave her, alone in their bedroom, last week. Emily and Hanna’s rules feel more important, not less, for being unofficial and secret. Priyanka wouldn’t break them; she hasn’t. No touching herself; no kissing boys; no smoking at parties. Two of the three have been easy. The first, especially as Emily and Hanna spend more time with her, has been next to impossible. 

It hadn’t seemed like it would be difficult. Priyanka doesn’t rub one out every day, anyway, and she has a roommate. She’d figured it would be easy enough to wait a few weeks. 

She’d been very wrong. Emily and Hanna have found her every day, for various purposes—selecting classes, selecting clubs. Recommending local salons and shops and even study carrels. Now, in hindsight, she remembers the way they pressed close to her, made sure she felt the curve of their tits on her arm, or the warmth of them tight against her side. There was always some good excuse for it—packed coffeeshops, shared armchairs. All of it had left Priyanka going home wet and wanting, sometimes to an empty dorm room where she could have—where no one would have known if she just—

She didn’t. She won’t, today, either. They’ve told her not to and she likes obeying them, even when it’s hard. She maybe likes it more when it’s hard. 

She’s saved from having to go home and struggle to follow the rule, because they're not, apparently, done with her for today. "Fashion show time," Emily says, herding Priyanka upstairs.

"We've already tried everything on?" Priyanka says, watching them unlock the door, trailing them into the room.

"Not with the shoes," Emily says, just as Hanna says, "This time you can leave your underwear off."

Priyanka is going to burst into flames. She's going to get so wet her body will dehydrate and she'll spontaneously combust from the heat flooding through her.

She is intensely glad she picked up on it when Emily made that pointed comment about the best bikini wax provider near campus, late last week. For herself, a beard trimmer has always seemed fine, but Emily and Hanna seem to like extra effort in everything. Essays, cocktails, grooming.

She thinks, _I bet they'd want me to give 110% to eating them out, too,_ and then almost trips over her own feet.

Emily reaches for the fly of Priyanka's jeans, and Priyanka shies back, automatically, too aware of how wet she is, and how obvious it will be in the air of this small room when she's naked. Emily stops, and clucks her tongue. "I thought you said you'd behave."

"I—yes. Sorry, you can—I'll, I'm ready."

She's less ready, though, for Hanna to grab her waist from behind, holding her in place for Emily to undo her fly. Emily's fingers skate through the open vee of it, just for a second, just low enough to make Priyanka have to hold back a whimper. "Get her top, Han," Emily says, and drops into a crouch to peel Priyanka's jeans off, and her panties with them. Her face is _right there_ —if Priyanka had worried about being too obviously turned on while they were all standing around, she hadn't braced for this, for the way Emily can _see_ the darkened crotch of her underwear as it comes down between her thighs.

She's distracted from it by Hanna pulling her top up and over her head, and unhooking her bra with one practiced hand. They don't even have an outfit ready to put her in, she realizes suddenly. She's just—naked, totally bare-ass naked in their room, her flip-flops kicked off downstairs. Emily stands back up, manages to do it so she's almost touching Priyanka all the way up. She's almost touching Priyanka now, so close her face is slightly blurred. "Good," she says, and Priyanka has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from making noise.

Emily turns away to grab the bags and set them on the bed. "What do we think first? The navy one?"

"I liked that one," Hanna says. "And we could see how the panties work without anything in the way." That makes Priyanka remember the navy ones: a part-thong/part-cheeky panty, or something like that, with a matching push-up bra covered in trailing lace that doesn't quite reach her navel.

They find it, rustling in the bags for what feels like ten minutes, glancing back at her every so often. She has her hands over her crotch—she can't not—but she can't hide everything, and their looks are so ... they _see_ her. They _like_ seeing her. This isn't remotely like the locker room, everyone ignoring everyone else's bodies. All of the focus in the room is on Priyanka's body.

They pull the tags off the navy set once they've found it, and turn around and ... still just stare at her, like they're assessing. "Take your hair down," Emily says, suddenly. Priyanka's wearing a ponytail.

Her hands feel fixed where they are, covering herself even just this little bit. "I—can I put that on first?"

"No," Hanna says, and that's all either of them say. It hangs in the room, and Priyanka can hear the unspoken follow-up: that they won't wait forever. That she'd promised to behave, if she wanted any rewards.

She moves her hands, shakily, up to her hair, and pulls out the ponytail holder. Instantly, they're all smiles—shark smiles, maybe, but even so. "That's it, sweetheart. You look so good like this."

"Now let's make her look better," Hanna says, and moves forward with the navy bits in her hands. She kneels, and it's like every new thing is taking it up one more notch, like she's a frog in slowly boiling water. Emily'd been right there—but Hanna's here now, and Priyanka’s _naked_. She can’t get over that part; they’re dressed head-to-toe, and she’s bared to their eyes and their hands. Stepping into the underwear, Priyanka's not just going to be standing here with her thighs together. Hanna's going to see—maybe not everything, but a lot more than nothing.

"You seem distracted," Emily says in her ear, and Priyanka almost jumps. She hadn't noticed Emily coming around behind her, and now Emily slides her hands onto Priyanka's hips and stands close enough that Priyanka's ass is up against her. "Aren't you having fun?"

She doesn't get a chance to answer, because Hanna's pulling her ankle up—and up, and out, much farther than she needs just to get Priyanka into the thong, and that's Hanna's _breath_ on her waxed-smooth skin, and she can't see any of it because Emily's got two fingers under Priyanka's chin, holding her head up, fingernails digging into Priyanka's throat.

"You're my favorite pledge," Emily tells her, and then the last of the plausible deniability—was there any left? Priyanka thinks, wildly—is gone, because Emily's hands are moving to her tits, nipples squeezed between Emily's long fingers.

She looks down, freed now, to see Hanna's putting one of her feet on the ground, proposal-style, and setting Priyanka's foot on her own thigh. It's still precarious, but less so, and Emily's braced up behind her. Hanna leans in, eyes shutting as she breathes Priyanka in.

The touch of Hanna's mouth is—Priyanka doesn't have a word good enough for this. She's done some stuff before, but she's never done _this_. She's thought about it, a lot, but mostly from the other side; she hadn't known how fucking overwhelming it would be just to have Hanna lick over her the first time, one long stroke of tongue.

She gasps, hearing it too-loud in her own ears, and then suddenly no one's touching her, no one's holding her up. Her foot thumps back to the floor and she stumbles backwards, Emily no longer behind her.

"Put these on," Hanna says, and hands her the panties. Priyanka almost falls over, yanking them on as fast as she can, trying to—trying to be good, when apparently she's messed something up.

"This too," Emily says, and gives her the top. Priyanka must not put it on quite to her liking, though, because Emily steps in close and reaches in to pull her tits up, one and then the other, settling them higher in the cups of the bra. Priyanka lets her, because the way Emily touches her, like Priyanka’s body is hers to adjust, to manhandle, is exactly what Priyanka wants. "That's it."

"Shoes," Hanna says, and tosses one to Emily. "Pri, why don't you sit down?"

Priyanka sits, heavily, on the edge of Hanna's bed, and then the two of them are at her feet, putting the strappy heels on her. "We should get her a pedicure," Emily murmurs, and Hanna nods.

She stands up without needing to be told; they'd asked for a fashion show, and she's pretty sure she can at least walk the length of the room in these heels. They seem pleased with her again; she wants to keep behaving for them.

"Christ," Emily says, as Priyanka crosses the room. "Look at her ass."

They're talking to each other, now, and not to her. It shouldn't be hot, should it?—but it's making her break a sweat, wondering how they talk about her when she's not there. Or if they don't care what she hears, now they've—now it's all on the table.

She turns, not exactly an artful pivot but one that keeps her upright with unsprained ankles. Emily and Hanna have relocated to the edge of Hanna's bed, along the far wall, and they're stripping. Emily's already most of the way naked—she'd been wearing a dress, and apparently braless—and Hanna's getting there, peeling out of her skinny jeans with some effort.

Priyanka figures there are a few things she could do here. But _you promised to behave_ rings in her ears, and she just stands, waiting, until they're finished. Until Emily beckons her closer.

When she's a few steps away, Emily says, "Lock the door, Priyanka."

Priyanka's watched porn, although it made her feel more second-hand embarrassment than arousal. She's read a fair share of dirty stories, which were much more up her alley. She's even fooled around with some people. She's had this day of new experiences. But nothing—nothing in her whole eighteen years—prepared her for how staggeringly hot those four words are in that order, in this context.

She says, "Yes, Emily," words coming out faster than her brain can stop them, and goes to lock the door.

Emily and Hanna are kissing when she turns back around, Hanna's hand familiar and possessive on the inside of Emily's thigh, Emily's hand in Hanna's hair. They look like art. They look like some of Priyanka's best daydreams, the ones she’s had to snap herself out of to keep following the no-touching-herself rule. The ones about them teaching her everything they know about sex, just like they’ve been teaching her everything they know about college. 

They break off from it, and Hanna says, staring at Priyanka but obviously talking to Emily, "You think on her knees?"

"Yeah," Emily says. "On a pillow."

Hanna tosses a pillow from the bed onto the floor between Emily's feet, and Priyanka doesn't ask; she doesn't think she needs to. She feels like she's in a dream, sinking onto her knees with Emily's thighs spreading to make room for her. Emily cups the back of Priyanka's head, smoothing over her hair. "You're going to be so good for us, aren't you, baby?"

Priyanka nods; she doesn't trust herself to speak. She keeps her gaze fixed on Emily's face through sheer force of will, but she can smell Emily—she can almost taste her, it feels like, and she _wants_ to, so much it's almost painful to keep waiting on a signal.

"She looks so eager," Hanna says, and Priyanka can't help sucking in a wet breath at that, can't help glancing over at Hanna's—everything, her tits and her belly and her thighs. "Oh, sweetheart. You want it, don't you? Want us to say you can?"

"More like—" Emily says, and her voice breaks. She clears her throat. "More like, she wants us to say she has to."

Priyanka knows her reaction to that must show on her face. "Yeah," Hanna agrees. "That's it." She leans in, threads her fingers into Priyanka's hair and pulls it. It feels—like nothing Priyanka's felt before. Her younger siblings have pulled on her hair plenty, and it _hurts_. It's not an electric jolt of arousal; it shouldn't make her want to beg Hanna to do it again.

"Oh," Hanna says, and Emily puts her fingers under Priyanka's chin again, lifting her head. "Oh, look at that. Fuck. Can we keep her?"

"I'm seriously considering it," Emily says. "Pri, baby. Time to make it worth our while."

Emily's meaning is plenty clear, even before she lets go. Priyanka doesn't need Hanna's hand, still in her hair, guiding her towards Emily's pussy. She likes it, though.

Emily smells incredible, rich and sexy and strong in a way that makes Priyanka's head spin. She tastes better. Priyanka had thought about taste—had tasted herself on her fingers often enough—but she hadn't thought about _texture_ , about the soft movements under her tongue and the way she can gently suck the skin into her mouth. "Oh, Jesus," Emily says above her, and Priyanka feels instantly both smug and nervous, needing this to be good for Emily. Needing Hanna to see her be good at this.

She isn't sure what's best, but she knows better than to go straight for the endgame, at least, so she starts off with slow, easy licks into Emily, pushing her face up close so she can work her tongue in deeper. "That's nice," Emily says, voice breathy, and her hand comes up to the back of Priyanka's head, where Hanna must have let go at some point when Priyanka wasn’t paying attention. "That's so nice, sweetheart."

Priyanka wants to do better than "nice," but it's a start, at least. She realizes, suddenly, that she can touch—or she can try to touch, at least, and see if they stop her. She runs a hand up the inside of Emily's thigh, feeling the muscles jump under her fingers, and then Emily's hip, where she's folded up into sweet, warm little creases. She wishes she could squeeze Emily's ass—fuck, she's thought about that ass as much as she's thought about Hanna's legs, almost—but she can at least trace her fingers up under Emily's thighs, as far as she can get before the bed gets in her way. That seems to do something special for Emily; she almost squeals, fingers tightening around Priyanka's head.

"Oh, you found the sweet spot," Hanna says, laughing. "Slide forward, Em, let her really touch."

The sweet spot, apparently, is the very bottom curve of Emily's ass, where if Priyanka drags her fingernails gently over it, Emily whimpers and shakes, getting wetter under Priyanka's tongue. "That's so fucking—" Hanna's voice cuts off, and then Priyanka can hear them kissing, and can almost, sort of, see it if she really angles right. It hurts her eyes to look that far up, though, so she shuts them again and refocuses on the slick sounds of kissing and of Emily under her tongue.

She wonders if they had another girl, last year, to do this for them. She wonders why they need anyone, when they have each other, when they're both so—if she was with one of them, she wouldn't need anybody else. Being with both of them, right now, is too much and too perfect, more than she'd ever considered she could have. She wonders if Hanna will pull her hair again, or if Emily will tell her to behave. She'll behave for them—anything they want, she wants to do for them.

"Fuck," Emily says, muffled but audible. Her voice gets clearer, after, like she's pulled away from Hanna. "Fuck, Pri, on my clit now, baby. That's—just right, sweetheart, just like that, _fuck_."

"She's a fast learner," Hanna says. "She's so eager to please."

Priyanka moans, can't help herself; it's too good, Hanna complimenting her to Emily like that. She doesn't know what about it is so hot—she'll worry about that later, when she clearly needs to do some intensive googling. Right now, it's just making her nipples so tight they hurt, under the lace, and making her ache to touch herself.

Emily's getting loud, although it's harder to tell as her thighs start to squeeze around Priyanka's ears. "Open up for her, Em, she's new to this," Hanna says, and then there's room to move again. She strokes Emily's thigh again in thanks, and dances her fingertips across the sweet spot, on one side and then the other. Emily moves, under her—lying back, Priyanka realizes, and Hanna following her to lay over her and kiss her. Priyanka wants to be either of them, right now, kissing the other one. She also wants, intensely, to be exactly where she is, making Emily feel good. Behaving herself.

Hanna reaches down and pulls Emily's legs wider with a hand on one inner thigh, her fingertips pressing into Emily's skin when Priyanka manages to look. It looks—like Bernini's Hades and Proserpina, which Priyanka had kept a picture of on her wall as a kid, and realized as a teenager just what about it drew her eye. The pressure, the _control_ , of Hanna's hand, makes Priyanka rethink some of what she'd assumed about them, about the way they are together. She wants Hanna's hands on her like that. She wants both of them to use her like that, spread her open for the taking. She wants to feel Emily come under her tongue, more than anything, and she can feel the way Emily's getting more swollen, needier, _louder_.

Emily squeals again, and Priyanka's fairly sure it's not anything she did, thinks Hanna might be contributing some stimulus up there, but she's not going to lose rhythm to check. She's got it, now, she thinks: fast and constant with the tip of her tongue, rocking across the head of Emily's clit. Emily's hips keep jerking, and Priyanka has to find her place again, but that just means it's working.

"I—oh—" Emily says, and then she's sucking in a breath so loud it almost competes with her groans, and her thighs yank free of Hanna's grip to seize around Priyanka's ears again. They're shaking—she's shaking—everything's shaking, even Emily's clit under Priyanka's tongue, and Priyanka wants to do this again every day for the rest of her fucking life.

Emily's thighs relax, and Priyanka licks her gently, just wanting the flavor of her. It's changed, somehow, watered down or something, and Priyanka isn't ready to stop tasting it yet.

A hand comes up to her forehead and gently but firmly shoves her back.

Priyanka opens her eyes, blinking against the harsh light of the room. Hanna's sitting up again, looking down at her with what Priyanka can only call a predatory expression.

"Hey there, baby," Hanna says, and Priyanka squeezes her thighs together, even though it's not enough. "Let's move that pillow for you."

“Hang on,” Emily croaks. She clears her throat, and slowly, shakingly, lifts up onto her elbows so she can see them. “Hang on, I think—I think we should teach her to use the Beast.”

Hanna giggles. “I’m okay, we can just—”

“No, no,” Emily says. “Pri can give you what you really want. Can’t you, baby?”

Priyanka has no idea what they’re talking about, but she’s entirely willing to do whatever they want her to do. “Yeah. Yes. I can. P-please,” just for good measure, stuttering out of her and making her cheeks feel hot. 

“See?” Emily tells Hanna. She looks more steady now, although Priyanka wonders what would happen if she reached out and ran her fingers up to Emily’s clit, right now. She bets Emily would shiver hard enough to almost fall off the bed. That’s what Priyanka would do—what she knows from touching herself, mostly, because the people she’s fooled around with weren’t very, um. Skilled. 

Hanna gets up, long limbs unfolding, and Priyanka watches her move over to her dresser, fish around in one of the drawers and pull out … oh. _Oh._

The Beast is a harness, or maybe it’s just the attached dildo, which isn’t so large that Priyanka entirely thinks it deserves the name, but is definitely big enough to be impossible to miss in Hanna’s tiny hands. “What do you think, sweetheart?” Hanna asks. “You think you can fuck me the way I like it?” Hanna reaches forward and tucks Priyanka’s hair gently behind one ear, fingers trailing over her skin.

“Yeah,” Priyanka says, all formality gone. She’s leaning forward, hands on her knees, to see it better. “Can you put it on me?”

“Of course, baby,” Hanna says. “Stand up for me.” 

Priyanka’s shaky on her legs, which feels dangerous in these shoes. Before she can try to figure anything out, though, Emily’s behind her, arms tight around her waist. “I’ve got you.” Emily’s fingers are much, much lower on her belly than before, well under the hem of the panties, tracing the fold of her hip. Something about it makes Priyanka more excited to—to _fuck_ , to shove her hips into Hanna’s, to feel Hanna under her. It’s not an instinct she’s had before, but it’s building in her now. 

Hanna steps in close enough that Priyanka has to stop herself from leaning down to kiss her. “One foot up for me, sweetheart.” Priyanka leans on Emily to carefully lift one foot, and Hanna pulls the harness up over it. They repeat on the other leg, and then Hanna’s settling it into place, closing buckles and adjusting straps. All Priyanka can focus on, though, is the weight of the gently shaking dildo against her. She wasn’t expecting to _feel_ it like this, heavy against her skin and against the straps. It feels like a part of her, unfeeling but somehow still connected. 

She wants to fuck Hanna with it so much it hurts. 

Hanna fusses with the straps, and then Emily says, “It’s fine. Let her try.” 

Hanna makes a face over Priyanka’s shoulder, but it morphs almost immediately into a grin, maybe mirroring whatever Emily’s doing. Hanna transfers her attention to Priyanka. “It’s easier doggy-style, when you don’t know what you’re doing,” she says. 

“Also, you just love doggy-style,” Emily cuts in. “Don’t mislead our little Priyanka.”

Hanna smirks. “Says Miss ‘but why can’t I ride you _every_ time’—”

Emily leans over Priyanka’s shoulder towards Hanna, and then they’re kissing, Priyanka caught between them. Emily’s hand is up on Hanna’s tit, where Priyanka wants to be; it’s a perfect, tiny handful. There’s one still free, where Priyanka could touch if she was allowed. Maybe—if they let her fuck Hanna, maybe she’ll be allowed. 

Maybe she won’t. Somehow, that might actually be hotter, and Priyanka squirms between them, can’t help herself. 

They break apart, Hanna breathing heavy. “Fuck. Okay, I need—Pri, baby, I need you to fuck me, okay? Emily’s gonna help you.” 

Priyanka’s not sure how much help she needs, but she can picture Emily behind her, guiding her, and it’s not the kind of thing she’s going to turn down. She nods, and Hanna turns toward the bed, climbs up onto it on her hands and knees. Priyanka can see all of her, like this—where she’s slick and shiny between her thighs, where Priyanka’s going to get to, if not touch her, at least push this cock into her. 

Emily urges Priyanka closer, both of them climbing onto the bed together. “Look how wet she is,” Emily says, and suddenly it’s the two of them talking about Hanna. Priyanka isn’t getting off on that in quite the same way, but it’s heady and exciting, somehow, like she and Emily are in a little club together, admiring Hanna. “You can touch her.”

Priyanka’s been wanting that permission all evening, and she jumps to take advantage, running her fingers along Hanna’s wet skin, feeling her out. “Don’t tease,” Hanna says, dropping down onto folded arms, voice tight. “Emily—”

“She wants to touch you so much, Hanna. She’s practically drooling back here. Aren’t you, Pri?”

Priyanka can’t deny it. She says, “Yes—yes, it’s, you feel so good.” She turns her hand around, gets the pad of her thumb on Hanna’s clit, rolling it gently, feeling the movement under the skin. She could play with Hanna’s pussy all day, she thinks—all week, all month. Fuck her classes; fuck everything that isn’t this. 

“Fuck me,” Hanna says, and Priyanka startles, not entirely sure Hanna isn’t telepathic. “Emily, please, make her fuck me.”

Emily leans forward, pressing against Priyanka’s back. She runs her hand around Priyanka’s hip and grasps the dildo. “Go on, baby,” she whispers in Priyanka’s ear. “Give her what she wants. Isn’t she asking so sweetly?”

Priyanka nods, and shifts forward between Hanna’s legs, lets Emily line her up. “Slow,” Emily instructs her, and Priyanka slowly shifts forward. Hanna’s wet, but not enough to take it all at once; Priyanka, with Emily guiding her, rocks back and forth a few times until the Beast is wet enough to sink in on one smooth stroke, Hanna groaning and shoving back towards them. 

On her first attempt at a real thrust, Priyanka slips out of Hanna altogether. Her face heats up, but Emily’s whispering, “It happens to everyone, sweetheart, you’re doing great,” and guiding her back in. Hanna barely seems to have noticed; she’s grinding back towards Priyanka like nothing else matters, like she _needs_ Priyanka’s cock in her, and it makes Priyanka feel powerful: towering, and sexy. 

She builds, carefully, into a rhythm. The shove of her hips makes Hanna gasp, and claw at the bed, and beg for more, but it also makes Priyanka’s heart race, her pussy throb. It’s unexpectedly hot, fucking Hanna. She can’t feel the squeeze of Hanna’s pussy, but she can feel her thighs slamming into Hanna’s; she can feel her muscles moving, making this happen. It’s a different, whole-body kind of arousal, diffuse but intense. Emily’s still pressed up behind her, just watching now, whispering the occasional, “That’s just right,” or “You’re doing so well, baby.” 

Priyanka asks, pitching it for Emily, “Does she need—should I touch—”

“Hanna’s special,” Emily says. “She likes clit play but she doesn’t need it. You can just focus on this. She’s close—look at her ass, the way her muscles are flexing super fast? She’s gonna—”

Hanna slams a hand down on the bed, grasps for the comforter. She stretches out her arm, and Priyanka can see the muscles in it fluttering, just as fast as the ones Emily had pointed out to her. “She’s, God, she’s coming,” Emily says, and reaches up to stroke a hand over Hanna’s ass, her hip. “You’re so beautiful, Han.” 

Hanna’s squeezing so hard on the Beast that Priyanka suddenly can’t pull back, and she waits it out, feeling a rush of pride and also a distinct rush of wetness. She hopes Emily and Hanna meant for her to soak these panties, because they’re going to need a very thorough wash. She hopes—she really fucking hopes—that they’re not going to turn her out of their room after this, desperate, not allowed to touch herself. 

Emily cups her hips, and tugs her back until she slips out of Hanna. “You good, Han?”

“ _No_ ,” Hanna says, but Emily just laughs. 

“Hanna can go forever,” she tells Priyanka. “She’d let you fuck her until it hurt.” Priyanka can’t keep from making a noise, thinking about it, and Emily adds, “Maybe another time.”

Hanna flops onto her side, chest heaving. “That was so good.”

“Better than getting eaten out, right? You should listen to me,” Emily says, climbing around Priyanka and laying herself over Hanna, kissing her. Priyanka hasn’t gotten to kiss either of them; she supposes maybe that’s just for them. She’s pretty happy with what she’s getting, here, tonight, so she’s not about to complain. She just wishes there could be kissing, too, maybe. 

After a minute, Emily rolls over, carefully in the small bed. “Unbuckle yourself, Pri, baby,” she says. “Come sit on my face.”

“Hang on, no, mine,” Hanna says. “Dibs.” 

If Priyanka was ready to be touched before, she’s close to crying with frustration now. She grabs for the buckles, fingers shaking, climbs off the bed to take it off, and the panties. She doesn’t bother with the top; they don’t need that off to touch her, however and whoever wants to touch her. “You start,” Emily says. “I’m up after. Priyanka, come here, I’ll settle you where you need to be.”

Priyanka returns on shaking legs, and lets Emily guide her up onto the bed, straddling Hanna. She might, if she were less painfully aroused, feel strange about this, or self-conscious. She might have demurred, if she wasn’t so close a stiff breeze might make her come. 

Instead, she gets this: the insistent press of Hanna’s tongue, and the moan Hanna lets out when she wraps it around Priyanka’s clit. Hanna’s jumping to the endgame, and Priyanka’s grateful for it, pressing her hands to the wall to keep herself upright under the onslaught of sensation. “Does it feel good?” Emily asks, hands sneaking around Priyanka’s waist to cup her tits through the bra, and Priyanka finds herself chanting, “Yes, yes, yes—”

“Beg us to get you off,” Emily prompts, and Priyanka gasps, “ _Please_ ,” meaning it with every fiber of her being. 

Hanna does something—something incredible, something indefinable—and Priyanka’s coming, shaking, only her wide-spread knees and Emily’s grasp keeping her upright. “My turn,” Emily says, and then there’s movement all around her, but no one makes Priyanka move. She couldn’t possibly. She just finds herself, somehow, with Hanna behind her and Emily under her, and then—

“I can’t,” she gasps, and then Hanna’s hands are on her thighs, prying them apart the way she had Emily’s. 

“You can, baby. You will. Just take it for us, that’s all you have to do, just let us make you feel good.” Hanna’s voice is gritty in her ear, and Priyanka fights against the grip, trying to squeeze her thighs together against the intense overstimulation of Emily’s mouth on her. “You can do this, sweetheart, you’re so good, you’re such a good girl for us, you’re behaving so well—”

Priyanka cries out, can’t help it, but something in the grip and the words makes her push through it, turns Emily’s insistent tongue into something incredible instead of painfully too much. “Oh—oh, _please_ ,” she says, and Hanna’s fingers ease on her thighs, coming up to her hips instead, Hanna’s mouth on her neck. 

“That’s our good girl,” Hanna says. “Come for us again, sweetheart. Let Emily taste you, she wants to taste you so much. You taste so good, baby, I love how you taste, you feel amazing, you were so good for us,” a steady flow of chatter, all of it burning through Priyanka’s brain, and her pussy, until the rhythm of Emily’s tongue pushes her over the edge again. 

She doesn’t literally black out—she thinks—but everything is fuzzy until she finds herself on her back in Hanna’s bed, breath almost back to normal. Someone’s stroking her hair. 

“Good girl,” Emily says. “Hanna’s gone to get you some water. You just lie there and feel good, okay, honey?” Priyanka nods, not trusting her dry throat to let her speak. “That’s it. We’ll get you some water and warm you up and put your clothes back on and you can go back to your dorm in a while, okay?”

That sounds good. She wants to stay here—she wants to stay here forever, but she wants to lie in her own bed and think back through this whole wild day, too. She thinks maybe, in a few decades of contemplation, she may actually be able to fathom that any of it actually happened.

***

Emily texts her to come over after class. Priyanka manages not to sprint, but only because she doesn’t want to show up sweaty and panting.

They’re lounging together on Emily’s bed when she arrives, legs tangled together, looking—sweet, and soft. Looking like a picture Priyanka can see herself in, or wants to. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” Hanna says. “Sit down. Did you have a good day?”

Priyanka nods, sitting, wiping her sweating palms on her skirt. She hadn’t focused well, today; she’d been thinking, all through Comparative Politics and Introductory Italian, about last night. About whether they’d want to repeat it.

“We’ve been thinking of a lot of good ideas for you, baby,” Emily says. She glances at Hanna. “That remote-controlled vibrating egg alone—”

“Stick to the point, Em,” Hanna says, and Emily clears her throat.

“Right, well. We have lots of things we want to do with you. But you’ve—you’ve proven yourself, okay? Consider yourself a sister. We’ll make sure you’re in. So anything from here on out … that’s just for us. The three of us. Completely voluntary. If you don’t want—”

“I do,” Priyanka cuts in, words tumbling out of her. “I do, I want it. Please.” 

Emily crosses her arms, uncrosses them. “Yes, well—” She turns to look at Hanna. “I don’t—”

“Suppose we said,” Hanna interrupts, “that we want to watch a movie tonight, with you. Eat some shitty microwave popcorn. Clothes on. Is that—would you like that, too? Or only if we put you on your knees, first?”

Priyanka’s not sure she understands the question. “Both? I mean. Either.” They don’t say anything, so she rambles, nervous. “I like movies. And popcorn. And clothes. But also—the other—that’s good too, I mean—”

Smiles are growing on their faces, and it eases something in Priyanka’s chest. “So—we’re gonna watch a movie tonight,” Emily says. “The new Thor’s out on Netflix. You want to join us? Like, at nine maybe, so we can all get some homework done first?”

Priyanka has to ask, even if it fucks everything up. She _has_ to. “You—you’ve done this before,” she says. “Like—last year. With some other pledge.” They exchange glances, and then Hanna gives her a tight nod. It hurts in Priyanka’s chest, makes her ask, “Did she, um. Did she watch movies with you?”

“No,” Emily says, softly. “No, we haven’t asked anyone to watch movies with us before.” That eases the pain, or most of it, but now she needs to know a hundred other things, about the differences. About what this means. About whether it will be someone else, next year.

Hanna can see, maybe, the follow-up questions on Priyanka’s face. “We like you,” she says. “Not just for—I mean, we also want to do a bunch of kinky stuff with you, but not just that.”

Priyanka stands up, and takes cautious steps toward them, her bare feet padding on the parquet. “Okay,” she says. “So that’s, like—dating. You’re asking me on a date.” She’s soaring, suddenly, too excited to keep her feet on the ground.

“Yeah,” Hanna says. Emily nods. 

“Then I should get to kiss you,” Priyanka says, heart in her throat. “I think that’s only fair.”

Emily’s smile could light up a room; Hanna’s busy biting her bottom lip, looking edible and ravenous all at the same time. Hanna’s closer to the edge, so Priyanka kisses her first, leaning over and planting her palm flat on the bed to brace herself for it. 

Hanna’s mouth is a revelation. Priyanka’s pretty sure, actually, this is the second time that’s been true. She never wants to do anything else in the whole world besides kiss Hanna, except to break off and kiss Emily, who’s crawled over close to them, waiting for her turn. 

She switches between them for long minutes, trying out all her best moves, feeling them try theirs. They kiss a lot alike—maybe that makes sense. She likes it. She likes everything about them. 

“Listen,” Emily says, panting into Priyanka’s neck. “It’s like the second week of school, how much work do you actually have?”

Priyanka says, fast, “None—basically none—”

“Me neither.” Emily kisses her neck. “You should—I know we said all that nice stuff about movies and keeping your clothes on, but that was before you were such a good kisser, so—”

“We can watch a movie after?” Priyanka says, breathless. “That’s almost the same thing.”

“We’re definitely keeping her,” Hanna says, pulling Priyanka’s face into her own and kissing her again.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Don't Want You Like A Best Friend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17259647) by [LittleMousling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMousling/pseuds/LittleMousling), [moogle62](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moogle62/pseuds/moogle62)




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